


It's a Terrible Christmas Carol

by tikistitch



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Crack, F/M, M/M, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-04
Updated: 2016-01-04
Packaged: 2018-05-10 17:55:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5595472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tikistitch/pseuds/tikistitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Smith is perfectly happy with his job manufacturing widgets at Scrooge & Shurley, LLC.  Then one day he gets a visit from Jingle the Elf, and finds his life forever changed as a motley assemblage of spirits try their ding-dong-darnedest to imbue the big jerk with the true Christmas spirit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's a Terrible Christmas Carol

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ShippersList](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShippersList/gifts).



> This one is obviously set in the It's a Terrible Life 'verse, but it goes without saying that many apologies are owed to Mr. Dickens. We've also mixed in dribs and drabs from various other sources, such as Shaun of the Dead and Agents of SHIELD. Merry Christmas, one and all.

Shurley was dead, to begin with. There was no doubt about it.

Dean Smith had entered his total carbohydrate consumption at Chuck Shurley's wake into his FitBuddy device. He was currently at eight percent body fat: perfection! Flicking his tie back from over his shoulder (where he'd flipped it to keep it out of the way while consuming his kale and endive salad) he carefully smoothed it down, snapped his Tupperware container closed and tucked it neatly into a desk drawer.

There was a rap-rap-rap on his office door, and he looked up. His boss at Scrooge & Shurley, LLC, Mr. Zach Scrooge himself, was there at the door, smiling down at him. Zach's face was now right beside Dean's MIT diploma as well as his many Employee of the Month certificates, all neatly framed and lined up along the wall. 

Dean had used a level to get them all lined up, straight as could be.

“Afternoon, Smith,” said Zach, chest puffing, shoulders back, thumbs cocked in his suspenders.

“Afternoon, boss,” said Dean, repeating the gesture as best he could from his seated position.

They paused there, sizing one another up for a long moment, Zach twisting his signet ring - a nervous tic. Zach finally broke the self-satisfied silence. “So, how's the improvements going with the new generation widgets?”

“We have a breakdown in the flux capacitor, but I think we can route the accelerometer through the gyros to increase the yaw-”

“Slow down, slow down, college boy,” laughed Zach, whose eyes had begun to cloud over the same way they always did when Dean spoke about anything technical. Zach was the famous inventor of the Scroogit widget, but he never seemed to pay much attention to Dean's engineering speak – perhaps it was all below him? “Sooo,” Zach continued, leaning close to confide, “we're all set for the rightsizing project?”

“I was just about to go over the spreadsheets!” said Dean, efficiently clicking the mouse on his desktop computer. Although Dean was a senior engineer, Zach often sought him out for difficult personnel issues. He knew he could trust Dean Smith!

“Counting on you, Smith,” said Zach, slapping the door frame and departing with a hearty thumbs up gesture.

“On it!” said Dean, answering with his own thumbs up. 

His iPhone 6S rang, and Dean put it to his ear. It was his lovely fiancee. “Amara.”

 _“Dean.”_ Even over the phone line, her voice was irresistible!

“Yes, dear?”

_“Remember, Dean, you will come with me to my father's dinner tonight.”_

“Yes, of course, babe.” Dean couldn't turn her down. And it just added a cherry on top that Amara's father happened to be his boss. His only boss, now that Mr. Shurley had passed. “I just need to finish this spreadsheet.”

_“I will see you then. Dean, it is your destiny.”_

“Anything you say, babe!” Dean hung up, smiling. His future was so bright, he needed to buy some more designer sunglasses. He paused and ticked that onto his FitBuddy’s scheduling function, and then turned to his spreadsheet once again. The names scrolled down, one after another. Time for the company to cut the fat – it was the only way. Chuck Shurley had been a popular CEO, but as Zach said, he was far too sentimental, always obsessing over whether they had the right brand of toilet paper in the bathrooms, ridiculous stuff like that.

_Rap-rap-rap._

Dean didn't even look up from his desktop. “What is it, boss?”

The door sprung open, but what stood there was definitely not Zachariah Scrooge. It was about three feet too short for one thing, and far grumpier.

“Uhhh, who are you?”

The small man was wearing boots with small bells attached to the pointed toes, so he made a high jingling noise as he stepped. He bore an odd resemblance to someone, but Dean couldn’t think who. Jeremy Carver? Wait, who even was that?

The funny little man hopped up into the guest chair in Dean's office, relaxing and crossing his legs. “Ah, my dogs were achin',” he rumbled, his voice a surprisingly low _basso profundo_. He flexed his feet, and the bells tinkled.

Dean, despite himself, found his mind suddenly clouded with thoughts of sugarplums. He shook his head, banishing the ridiculous images. “Who are you, and what are you doing in my office? I'm sorry, dude, but I'm kinda busy here.”

“I'm Jingle, da happy Christmas elf, Mac,” the tiny man boomed. “I'm here to fix your Christmas spirit.”

Dean's face contorted into a skeptical scowl. All right, this was some kind of practical joke. Maybe the boys in Accounting? Or the IT guys: they could get up to pranks. “I've attended every required Christmas function.” He unhooked his FitBuddy and held it up. “See? I consumed 3.5 portions of carbs at our nondenominational holiday party!”

Quick as a wink, Jingle (or whoever the hell this guy was) had snatched his FitBuddy out of his hand and sat staring at it. “What da fuck is dis shit supposed to be?” he grumbled. “Can't quantify Christmas, Mac!”

“Give that back to me!” But to Dean's shock and horror, the little man pressed a button, and the FitBuddy’s readout began flashing as if in the midst of a grand mal seizure. 

Desperately, Dean grabbed it back. “You broke it! How will I monitor my cardio now?”

Jingle rolled his eyes and sat back. “All right, Mac. Seems you're gonna be a hard case. That's why they sent me. I'm da one they go to when things go wrong. And things have gone real wrong wit' you. What's gonna happen is, you're gonna be visited by t'ree ghosts tonight.” He held up three surprisingly stubby fingers.

“What's gonna happen is I'm gonna call security on your elf ass!” snapped Dean. He picked up his desk telephone, but there was no dial tone. “Hello? _Hello?_ ”

“T'ree ghosts,” Jingle obstinately repeated. “Startin' at 8:15 sharp. When you shoulda punched out for the day, if you wasn't a type A douchebag.”

“What? OK, buddy, who sent you anyway? Was it the guys in IT? They're a bunch of dicks.”

“Then the next spirit will show up at nine o’ t’ree (eight central), and then da last guy at ten thirty-seven. He'll be gettin' time an' a half overtime, of course.”

“Ten thirty-seven? Nothing starts at 10:37. I don’t even have space for times like that on my FitBuddy.”

“Union rules, buddy! Da workin’ man gots rights.”

“Look, buster, I can't talk to your union buddies tonight – I got a dinner to go to.”

“You got some Christmas spirit to pick up, Mac!” growled Jingle. “You turned into one big bourgeoisie swine.”

“Oh, stow it, you proletarian rabble rouser!”

Jingle was off the chair, toe-bells tinkling, and Dean was once again trying to stave off visions of fattening holiday food. “Be prepared, Winchester.”

“What – what did you say?” But then Jingle was gone in a puff of evergreen-scented smoke.

Dean sighed and managed to make the clock function come up on his FitBuddy. It was already after 7 pm. Dammit! How had the hours slipped past? He'd wanted to do some cross-fit before dinner. Ah well. He'd get home and get dressed before it was time to pick up Amara. 

The building had pretty much cleard out by the time he made it to the spectacular glass elevator that dominated the center of the Scrooge & Shurley headquarters. It was a recipe for disaster for those who were scared of heights: three of the four sides were transparent, and the back was fashioned with shining mirrors. No matter where you looked, it was clear you were up quite high. It was the closest thing to being suspended in mid-air.

Dean was actually terrified of the thing, but he had never mentioned it. Fear of heights did nothing to lend to his efficiency. 

He was surprised to see Sam Wesson waiting there. Dean nodded to him. Wesson was just a Help Desk associate, but they sometimes ran into one another at the company gym. The guy could bench a freight train! Dean wondered about his diet – maybe he should ask him for advice about supplements?

“Hey. Merry Christmas,” Sam ventured.

“Hogwash,” snorted Dean.

Sam stared at him. “Christmas is hogwash? Because it's commercial, you mean?”

“It's a conspiracy by a bunch of lazy good for nothings. Just another useless day off work – a day when they could be productive!”

“Hrm,” said Sam, who appeared preoccupied. He was scanning around, but there seemed to be no one else about on the floor. “Say, have you heard anything about this downsizing?”

 _“Rightsizing,”_ Dean corrected.

Sam's eyes widened. “So, there are gonna be layoffs? At Christmastime?”

“It's efficient to make these changes in the fourth quarter.” Why didn’t people understand elementary economics?

“The fourth quarter? That's all it means to you? You know, some people will be out of a job.”

“It's my job to assure this company operates at peak efficiency!”

“If you say so.” The elevator arrived, so this cut off the debate for a moment. Dean and Sam entered the elevator, and rode down in silence for a time. Sam, appeared to be thinking hard. Perhaps something Dean had said had persuaded him? After all, the young man needed to wake up to reality – Sam Wesson’s name was on top of the right-sizing list. Zach himself had put it there. 

Not that it meant anything to Dean. 

Dean, for his part – while he wasn’t being worried about being up many feet in the air suspended by nothing but a thin cable – caught a strange glint in the glass of the elevator’s side panel. He turned around, and thought he spotted something in the mirror, like someone staring at him. But maddeningly it was just beyond the corner of his eyes.

The elevator doors snapped open, and Dean started. But he soon recovered himself, and marched out into the lobby, towards the front door.

“Uh,” said Sam.

Dean turned. Sam was standing there, tentatively holding out a small envelope. Not a Christmas card, Dean fondly hoped. “My fiancée and I, we're holding a little Christmas party this evening.”

“Fiancée?” asked Dean. “You're getting married to-”

“To Jess. Yeah.” Sam pushed back his too-long hair and a simple-minded smile crossed his face. “You remember Jess?” 

Dean had met Jess. She was another do-gooder. Much like her husband-to-be. “You're too poor to get married,” Dean scolded. 

“We're doing all right. Really. Jess just has to finish her residency, and I'm almost done with my night school classes.”

“But what if something were to happen?” Dean warned. Like _rightsizing_. Even though it was only right.

“We'll be fine. Anyway, if you're not doing anything?” Dean stared at the envelope. It had a little gingerbread man sticker on it. Of course, he was going to a very important dinner tonight. There was no way he could take Amara to a ridiculous little party at a shabby apartment on the tacky side of town. He should have said no, right then and there, but found himself instead standing silently, holding the envelope, and wearing an uncharacteristically puzzled expression.

“No pressure,” said Sam. “I know you're probably busy. Just, in case you wanna come by, have a drink, and maybe some games, and some dancing?” He nodded hopefully, and then strode out, leaving Dean, for once, speechless.

Dean shoved the unwanted invitation into the pocket of his cashmere coat and marched out to his energy-efficient Prius, which was parked nearby in one of the spots set aside for electric cars. He began driving home, his engine turning over soundlessly as he cruised through the darkened streets.

His ears perked up as he heard a rattling sound behind him. Had his mechanic missed something? He glanced in the mirror and suddenly jammed on the brake, the car skidding towards a snowy embankment, and jerking to a halt as Dean's heart beat pounded like a step aerobics class.

“Mr. Shurley? Chuck?” Dean sat, utterly petrified, too scared to turn around. Instead he stared into the rear view mirror at the image of his ex-boss – his very _dead_ ex-boss – wrapped in chains, and carrying an economy pack of toilet paper.

“Did you see Jingle? I thought I heard he'd gone to see you,” said Chuck.

"The elf? Uh, yeah," Dean told him.

"He tell you about the spirits? He didn't forget that part, did he?"

"Mr. Shurley," said Dean. "You're dead, sir."

Chuck's misty image rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I know. It sucks. Can't get quality toilet paper any more. But the chains are pretty cool." He gave them a satisfied rattle. “I look pretty badass, dontcha think? Chicks dig chains.”

“Boss – uh, if that's who you are, and I didn't get _e. coli_ from my mango smoothie – I can't do the appointment with the ghosts tonight. I got a dinner-”

“You have to do the spirits!” Chuck fussed. “That's how these things work!” Chuck was waving his hands. “You talk to the ghosts, you get the infused with the Christmas spirit, I get softer T.P. It's part of the deal! You don't want me wiping my nether regions with the bargain brand, do you? It's like sandpaper.”

“You have to go, uh, after you're dead?” asked Dean. There was no response. He steeled his nerve, and twisted around to look in the back seat. Alas, he found he had been talking to himself, as Chuck had evidently taken a powder. 

Perplexed, Dean opened the door got out of his car, into the cold evening air, and walked all the way around, the snow crunching beneath his Ferragamos. There was no sign of Chuck Shurley, nor his toilet paper hoard, but Dean realized, much to his dismay, that he had scraped the side of his Prius on a fire hydrant. He squatted down and cursed. 

A passing patrol car slowed down beside him, and the beefy cop inside peered out. Dean stood and attempted a cheery wave. The cop scowled and pointed to the “no parking” sign. Dean leapt back into the car, fired up the electric motor and hummed off. It wouldn't do to have a traffic citation marring his perfect record. He sighed and, finding his favorite smooth jazz station on the radio, headed home. By the time he arrived back at his condo, he had almost managed to convince himself that this evening had all been a bad dream. He opened the door of his apartment, thinking about a nice, hot shower, but decided he needed to fix his FitBuddy. No matter if Jingle the Elf had been a daydream, it was definitely acting freaky. Maybe the stupid elf had drained the battery?

Fortunately, Dean planned ahead. He ended up in the kitchen, rummaging in drawers beneath his marble countertops for his replacement FitBuddy battery pack. Ah, here it was! But, regrettably, it was packaged in one of those horrible plastic clamshell things. Dean struggled with it for a while, sweating and cursing, and finally extracted one of the larger, sharper stainless steel knives from the block and began to attack it. 

His FitBuddy alarm sounded. That was weird – he couldn't remember setting it. It was precisely 8:15 pm. He flicked it off. It began chirping again. He grabbed it and flicked it off again, cursing. He would need to take it back to the Brookstone store when he got a chance.

The overhead track lighting flickered.

Something began pounding at the door. Dean stabbed at the battery pack. It twisted out of his hands and fell to the floor with a dull thud.

The pounding sounded again.

“Who's there?” shouted Dean, now clutching the knife.

The door flew open, and in strode a dark-haired man wearing a long, rumpled coat. As Dean's track lighting sparked and the $50 LED lights shattered one by one, the man walked calmly across the natural hardwood floors to stand in front of Dean.

The man squatted down and retrieved the crumpled battery pack packaging from the floor. He stared at it for a moment, cracked the plastic, and neatly extracted the item. “I believe you dropped this,” he said, proffering the battery to Dean.

“Who- who are you?” Dean sputtered, still clutching the sharp kitchen knife.

The dude's coat needed to be steam cleaned, and he could stand some help with hair products, but, damn. Dean stood there, waffling between stabbing the guy in the chest, asking for his phone number, or maybe – just maybe – trying to lick his collarbone.

“Castiel.”

“Castiel? What are you?”

The man crowded still further into Dean’s personal space. “I am the Spirit of Christmas Past,” he intoned, in a voice sepulchral as it was low. And more than a bit sexy. “My arrival was foretold. By Jingle. The Happy Elf.”

Dean's thoughts had raced ahead to doing something anatomically improbable with this Castiel person right on top of his marble countertops. But instead, he sighed and, thumping the knife down on the counter with a disappointed look, grabbed the new FitBuddy battery pack from Castiel hands. “Oh, the Christmas spirit crap. I told you guys, I don't have time for that stuff. Tell Jingle-”

But then the man leaned even further towards Dean, staring at him with his weird anime-style eyes, his brow furrowed in worry. “Dean. You think you don't deserve to be imbued with the Christmas Spirit.”

Dean struggled for something to say. “It's not that! I'm a busy guy. I got places to be.” He pulled out his madly flashing FitBuddy. “My fiancée is gonna be on my ass any minute-”

“Fiancée?” growled Castiel.

“Yeah. Amara,” said Dean.

And with that, a glowering Castiel placed two fingers on Dean's forehead, and suddenly the earth spun.

Dean blinked. He and Castiel were no longer standing in his tastefully appointed living room, but rather in an awfully familiar though somewhat shabby common room. He spun around. “Where the fuck-? Wait. I know this place.”

A door opened, and three boys tumbled into the room, laughing and carrying grocery bags.

“Son of a bitch!” said Dean. “Is this-?”

Another door opened, and the room was filled with the rich smells of cooking. A bearded man stepped into the room. “Don't run with the groceries, boys!” he scolded good-naturedly. The high spirited boys halted in their tracks, stilly laughing. 

“Sonny! This is Sonny's place!” Dean told Castiel. “I stayed here, after my parents....” He trailed off, and then tried to hail the man. “Sonny! Hey, it's me! Dean!” He stepped forward, but Sonny ignored him.

Cas gripped Dean's shoulder. “These are but shadows of things that have been. These spirits can neither see nor hear us.”

The kitchen door closed again as Sonny ushered the boys away, and the common room once again went silent. 

“You were poor here, Dean,” said Castiel.

“Yeah, but Sonny always made Christmas into a big deal. We didn't have money, but we had fun. He'd invite the whole neighborhood. Hey, let's check it out!” Dean led the way into the kitchen – he found that he just passed through the door. It was chaotic in the tiny, hot room. The boys were putting away the groceries at the same time as several adults were trying to cook. 

“Why don't you go help with decorating?” Sonny called, and the boys ran out towards another room. Dean lingered for a moment as a woman opened the oven and checked on a luscious apple pie, but then he followed the boys out the other door and down the hall to a large dining room. The folding tables had been draped with well-worn but clean tablecloths, and a group of boys was hanging up obviously hand-made decorations. 

There was a boy at the top of a ladder yelling directions to everybody. 

“Hey, that's me!” said Dean. He grinned and watched his younger self alternate between tacking up paper chains and bossing around the other kids. “I was a little jerk,” he confessed, grinning.

A smaller boy, sitting on the floor, coloring with crayons, called up to Dean, and Dean slid down the ladder to crouch down next to him. Dean held up the younger boy’s crude drawings and marveled at them. 

“Do you like my Christmas tree, Dean?” asked the little boy.

“Hey, Sammy, these are the best”

“You like 'em?”

“They're awesome, kiddo!” said Dean, prompting a huge, gap-toothed grin from little Sammy.

“Sammy?” asked the adult Dean. He glanced over at Castiel, who didn't answer. “I don't remember a Sam at Sonny’s place. Huh, that's weird. Are you sure this all happened?” 

Cas nodded.

“Dean!” whispered little Sammy, and kid Dean leaned nearer. Adult Dean drifted over to eavesdrop. 

“What is it, kiddo?”

“Is there gonna be … dancing?”

Kid Dean broke into a grin. “Of course! You know Sonny's gonna invite the gals at the local girl's school. We'll all eat lots of Christmas pie, and then there will be dancing.”

“I can't dance,” Sammy whispered. “How do I ask a girl to dance?” He looked pained.

“Easy peasy. You just walk up to her and say, hey, wanna dance?” Kid Dean emphasized his pick-up line with a sly wink that had adult Dean stifling a chortle.

“I had the moves!” said adult Dean approvingly.

“Thanks, Dean!” said young Sam.

“Any time, Sammy,” said Dean, ruffling the kid's hair.

Adult Dean heard a car pulling up the drive. He stood up and glanced out the window. A long black car with tinted windows was now parked outside. Several men emerged, all wearing dark suits and reflective glasses. “What is it, the president? The Men in Black?” Dean asked Cas.

One of the figures who emerged from the car looked awfully familiar. “Wait, is that-? Who is that, Cas? What are they doing here? I don't remember any of this stuff.”

Instead of replying, Castiel turned and walked out of the room. Bidding goodbye to his younger self, Dean hastened to follow the spirit. 

They ended up in Sonny's small, cramped office. Sonny, still sweating from the kitchen and wiping his hands on a dish towel, sat down. A couple of the suited men flanked the door. Sitting opposite of Sonny was a younger Zachariah Scrooge. He sat, nervously twisting his signet ring – Dean noticed that it looked shiny and new.

Zachariah nodded, and one of the men in suits stepped forwards and pushed a pile of papers onto Sonny's desk. Sonny grabbed some reading glasses from a drawer, put them on, and shuffled through the papers.

He stopped and looked up, peering over the glasses at Zach. “Everything here seems in order, Mr. Scrooge. But as I've said before, the brothers are close, and I'm not sure we should separate them-”

“And as I've said before, sadly the Wessons only have room for one child. They would like to adopt Sam Winchester.”

“Sam Winchester,” Dean echoed. “Huh.” Castiel, standing by his side, remained silent.

“I'm just not sure how his brother's gonna take this. Dean is a good kid.”

Dean nudged Castiel. “Wait. What's going on? Cas?” But, frustratingly, the spirit next to him did not answer.

“You don't consider my offer to be generous then?” Zach was asking Sonny.

Sonny put his hand though his greying hair. “Your donation could keep this place running for three years! And it would pay up our debt to the bank....”

“Cas, what the hell-?” Dean turned, and once again Castiel touched him lightly on his forehead.

Now they were standing in the middle of the dormitory. Dean and Sam’s bunks were side by side. The lights were out, but neither boy was asleep, though the other residents were all sawing wood.

Dean couldn't help but smile as he looked around. Right above his bed were hung Dean's certificates for leadership. Young Dean, who had always been a bit fussy about his surroundings, was sitting up in bed, making certain they were hanging straight.

“When 'm I gonna get a cer-ticky-fit?” little Sammy whispered to him.

“Aw, Sammy, certificates don't matter,” young Dean assured him. 

“Really?”

“It's what's in here that counts,” young Dean told him, thumping his own chest.

“I was an idiot, obviously,” adult Dean whispered to Cas.

“Were you?” Castiel replied.

Both of the boys had now settled into their beds. “Deeeeean?” Sam hissed.

“What?”

“Will we always be brothers?”

Adult Dean found that something was caught in his throat. Kid Dean rolled over and laughed. “Of course. Now get to sleep, bitch.”

“Jerk!” Sammy giggled.

“Cas,” said adult Dean, but the spirit once again flew him away.

They were now standing outside. It was dark – near dawn. Dean couldn't actually feel the cold, but he shivered anyway.

Little Sammy was there, carrying a small knapsack, and being hurried towards a long, black car. He was being escorted by some of the men in black suits Dean had seen with Zach the other night.

“Hey, Sammy?” called Dean, even though the little boy would not hear him. “What's going on?”

Just as Sam was getting to the car, young Dean burst out into the yard. “Sammy! Where are you going?” he called. But, oddly enough, little Sam gave him a blank look, and hopped into the car.

“Sammy! Hey, let go of me!” young Dean yelled as one of the suited men grabbed him by the arm. Dean kicked him in the shin and ran towards the car. Unfortunately, it sped away just as he reached it, but he followed, running down the driveway, yelling. 

At last he stood, panting, hands on knees, at the edge of the driveway. 

Two of the men in suits and reflective glasses approached him, looming over him.

Adult Dean found that his heart was racing. He felt if he didn't stop the men, something terrible was going to happen. “Cas, what's happening?” Dean asked Castiel. “What are they gonna do to him?”

Cas didn't answer, so now adult Dean took off running, trying to get between the suited men and his younger self. “Hey, stop that! Hey!” But the men – or shadows of the men – passed right through him. “Cas! Cas!” he yelled frantically.

Something buzzed in his ears.

Dean opened his eyes. It was his stupid FitBuddy alarm again. He grunted, twisting around on his leather couch, and turned it off. 

The digital readout was blinking up a storm: 9:03 pm.

Shaking off sleep, and what he took as the remnants of a dream, he now grabbed at his ringing iPhone.

“Amara?” He didn’t even need to look at the caller ID.

_“Dean. Where are you?”_

“Sorry, there was…. Nothing. I’m on my way.”

_“Dean, do not fail me again!”_

“On my way, babe.”

Dean hung up the call, and then sniffed the air. Something smelled odd. It smelled like ... pine needles.

Whipping off the coverlet someone had draped over him, he sat up and saw, to his horror, that someone had erected a Christmas tree right in the middle of his living room.

“Son of a bitch!” he fumed.

“Hello!” said a strange man who of course had invited himself into Dean's luxury condo. “I'm Garth Fitzgerald the Fourth – the Spirit of Christmas Present!” And he had no sooner hailed Dean than he threw himself at him, wrapping him in a big hug.

Dean wrested himself away. “I don't do hugs!” he protested.

“Awww,” said Garth, bringing up a sock puppet with button eyes and a pointed felt hat. “Mr. Fizzles the Elf thinks that somebody is lacking in Christmas spirit!”

Dean was crouching by the tree, in great distress. “Look at this thing – it's gonna get pine needles everywhere! And crappy tinsel!”

“Now now, Dean,” said Garth, crouching beside him and still working that stupid sock puppet. “I can see this is gonna be a tough case, ain't it, Mr. Fizzles the Elf?” 

“Yes,” agreed Fizzles the Elf in a high, squeaky voice. _“We need some Christmas spirit. Why don't we get out the ol’ uke, Garth Fitzgerald the Fourth?”_

“Well, that's a right good idea!” And suddenly, Garth was standing there with a ukulele. “Come on, Dean, why don't you sing along? _Oh, grandmother got runned over by a reindeer....”_

Dean sprang up and snatched the ukulele from Garth's grasp.

“Oh, you wanna play? It's in the key of G!”

“I don't have time for this!” Dean fumed, waving the ukulele. “You and the other guy have ruined my apartment.” 

“The other guy?” asked Garth. 

“The hot guy! He broke my lights. And took me … somewhere.” Dean stood there for a moment. Castiel. Cas. But it had all gotten dim. He shook his head. “What happened to him, anyway?”

“Castiel?” asked Garth. “The Spirit of Christmas Past?”

“I guess so.”

Garth grinned. “You thought he was hot?”

“I didn't say that!”

“Actually, you just did. Yep, we heard it, didn't we, Mr. Fizzles the Elf?” Mr. Fizzles, the traitor, nodded. “You liked Castiel?”

Dean sulked and set down Garth's uke. “Yeah, maybe. He had pretty eyes. Anyway. I've got to get to a party.”

“Party?” asked Garth, who brightened, even though he was already pretty darned bright and shiny. “Yeah, I was just about to take you to a party. Down at Sam Wesson's house.”

“I don't have time-” But Dean stopped. Something had started nagging at the corner of his mind, and it wasn't pine needles. “Wait. Sam Wesson?”

“None other! Hey, why don't you come on down?” asked Garth. It wasn't really a question, as he leaned forward and bonked Dean on the head, and suddenly, they were both transported downstairs to Dean's parking garage.

Dean gawped. His parking spot was occupied not by his scraped up Prius, but instead by a sleek, black vintage Chevy. “What is this?”

“Well, Jingle heard you got in a accident with that little wind-up toy you was drivin', so we got you this. Merry Christmas!” He tossed a set of old-fashioned car keys over to Dean.

Dean caught the keys and brushed his hand over the fender, knowing he should inquire about gas mileage and carbon footprint. But, damn, this car was so cool!

“Now, let's head on out to Sam and Jess's party!” said Garth, getting into the shotgun seat. “Got your invite right here. Don't wanna be late.” He held up a somewhat crumpled envelope. It had a sticker of a gingerbread man on it.

Dean hopped into the driver's seat and was surprised to find that Garth had disappeared, leaving nothing but Sam's invitation on the passenger seat. Regardless, he fired up the engine, listening to her purr. It was a lot bigger than his old car, but somehow, he felt natural maneuvering it through the parking lot and out to the street. He saw a neighbor outside walking her dog, and for some reason, waved at her. She grinned and waved back.

He found a box of cassette tapes on the floor and stuck one in. 

“Ah, that's better!” came a familiar voice from the back seat.

Dean glanced up into the rear view mirror and spotted Chuck, his chains, and several economy packs of toilet paper in the back seat. “Chuck?” 

“A lot more room back here!” Chuck gave his chains a satisfied rattle, and patted his toilet paper.

Something was tugging at Dean's mind. “Chuck. Castiel took me to Sonny's.”

“Heard you liked Castiel! Something about sex on those marble countertops?”

“What?” Dean sputtered. “Uh.” Well, yeah. “No. Chuck. There was something about Sam. I'm trying to remember, but I can't.”

Chuck's mirror image leaned forward, and Dean was certain he could feel the man's hand on his shoulder. “Dean,” said Chuck. “Take my advice.”

“Yeah?”

“Load up on toilet paper! Stockpile while you can!”

Dean turned his head and glanced at the back seat. Of course, there was nothing and no one back there.

He turned a corner, and arrived at Sam's address, out in a much less trendy part of town. He ascended several flights of stairs (the elevator was out), and proceeded down a cramped hallway to a small, cluttered, noisy, crowded apartment, utterly stuffed to the brim with tantalizing Christmas spells and Christmas music and people running around wearing silly flashing light necklaces and torn wrapping paper scattered around and lots and lots of booze and people and kids everywhere. There were a couple of folks out on the fire escape talking to neighbors upstairs and people curled up on couches and people dancing to the music and people roasting a turkey (the poor thing was tiny – way too small to feed all these people) and people gossiping and joking and slathering creamy green frosting on Christmas cookies and it was just too much to take.

And here came Sam Wesson himself, wearing a Santa Hat with ridiculous felt reindeer antlers, carrying a couple plastic cups of some kind of spirits. “Merry Christmas everyone! Merry Christmas, Mrs. Wesson!” he shouted, draping a long arm around a grinning blonde. 

“I'm not Mrs. Wesson, I'm Dr. Moore!” she retorted, giving his antlers an affectionate cuff. They kissed, and then his eyes turned to Dean.

“Hey! You came!” Sam shouted.

Confused, Dean looked behind him, but there was no one else in Sam's line of sight. Sam ambled over and wrapped Dean in a big bear hug (or maybe it was a reindeer hug?), and Dean realized people could see him. Which made no sense – why wouldn't people be able to see him? Was he already drunk?

“You can see me?” he asked Sam, immediately regretting it when Jess arched an eyebrow. She really seemed to be giving him the once-over, and Dean felt suddenly inadequate.

“Of course. Dean! This is my girlfriend, Jess! Jess, this is Dean!”

“Yeah, I guessed,” said Jess, who leaned over to give Dean a quick peck on the cheek. She was still eyeing him suspiciously. “I gotta check on the turkey. Maybe you guys could talk?” she told Sam.

“Dean, come meet my friends. I'm so glad you could come!” said Sam, handing over a cup of cheer and slinging an arm around Dean's shoulders. He walked Dean over to the coffee table, where Dean recognized a couple of the other help desk guys from work. 

“Sam!” called one of them, who was opening a box. “We were just gonna play Cards Against Humanity. Want in?”

“Oh, I am so in!” said Sam, lowering his oversized frame to sit on the floor. “Come on, Dean, play a round with us.”

“Uh,” said Dean, looking awkwardly at his beer. “I'm not really one for games.”

“Come on!” said one of the other help desk guys. “It burns carbs. You can enter it on that Fitness gizmo you're always carrying around.”

Dean glowered, but found himself a place on the floor next to Sam. 

“Hey, here comes the rum punch!” called Sam as someone brought around a tray of plastic glasses. Dean downed his first glass – whatever the hell it was, it was strong – and reached for another cup. After a few rounds (and a few more cups) Dean realized that, despite himself, he'd made some new friends.

He found himself sitting on a threadbare couch, eating a more or less Christmas tree-shaped cookie, when he noticed a new person wearing a rumpled trench coat was sitting beside him.

“Cas! You're here.”

Castiel looked extremely uncomfortable in the genial atmosphere. “Hello, Dean. Garth said that you had been asking for me?” His forehead creased with concern.

Dean blushed, and then tried to hide his blush. “Yeah, uh, wanna Christmas cookie?” he asked, offering a Santa shape from his small paper plate. 

Castiel's forehead squnched down more, but he gingerly picked up the cookie from Dean's plate and took a bite. “The taste is fairly appealing,” he noted. 

There was now a red blob of frosting on the corner of Cas's mouth, so Dean pointed to that corner of his own mouth. Castiel stared at him. So Dean leaned over and brushed his thumb over the corner of Cas's mouth. 

“Dean,” said Cas. It was not a question. They were so close now.

The lights dimmed, and the music changed from a jolly Christmas carol to something soft and slow. Oddly enough, it sounded a lot like “Can’t Help Falling in Love,” but played on a ukulele. Dean once again found his thoughts straying to Cas's slim, strong fingers twining through his hair, grabbing his hips....

“Dance with me!” said Dean, getting somewhat shakily to his feet and extending a hand. At first, he was certain Cas was refuse, as the Spirit spent a long moment staring at his hand like it was some kind of alien creature.

But then, all at once, Cas swept off the couch, grabbed Dean and ushered him to the small dance floor, where he pulled him in close. Slowly, in time to the music, they began to sway together.

Was this Christmas? Was this what it felt like? Dean glanced over Cas's shoulder, and spotted Sam dancing with Jess. Sam grinned and offered Dean a hearty thumbs up. Dean was drunk and happy and the room smelled nice and Cas smelled even nicer and his fingers were soft, and....

Wait.

Wait!

“Cas!” Dean grabbed his arm and pulled Cas off the dance floor, out of the room, out onto the balcony – no, actually it was just a fire escape, but it was out in the fresh, crisp winter air, where Dean could breathe and think. Still gripping tightly to Cas, he exhaled, watching the mist released from his mouth. “Cas!” He pulled Cas around to face him. They were alone out there now, the other party guests having fled the cold of the evening. At some point, he didn't quite remember when, Dean had evidently removed his coat, so he shivered against the night air. 

Castiel pulled him in closer, his eyes searching Dean's face. “Dean. What's wrong?” he asked, his face now a mask of concern. He licked his lips, and Dean found himself watching, entranced. Then, as they stood there, Cas threaded his fingers through Dean's hair, drawing him closer. Dean relaxed and tensed at the same time, melting into the kiss, feeling Cas's rough stubble against his face, letting himself be held, hungry for touch.

“Cas!” Dean whispered when at last they separated. “I have to ask. Sam-”

Cas suddenly stepped back. It was as if Dean had physically pushed him away.

“Cas, I gotta know. Is Sam-?”

Before he could break away, Cas leaned forward and touched Dean's temple, and the world spun away. Dean was tangled in his bedcovers, lashing out as his stupid FitBuddy alarm chirped away. He seized it and flung it against the wall.

“Not a good way to treat your tech!” comment a bright redhead who was sitting cross-legged on his bed. She was wearing a headset, and had a Macbook Air open in her lap.

Dean sighed, as he was now getting use to this shit. “What now?”

She grinned. “I'm Charlie! I'm the spirit of Christmas future! Now, don't tell anyone,” she said, futzing with her laptop, “but I thought I'd take you to Christmas 2525! It's not strictly regulation, but it's pretty awesome.”

“Where the fuck is Cas?”

Charlie froze. And then she slapped the laptop closed and leaned very, very close. “Castiel? You liked him?” she squealed.

“What is it with you people and lack of personal space?” Dean growled. He actually felt a bit hung over after Sam’s party. What did that guy put in his punch? He needed to get the recipe so he could enter it into his FitBuddy – not that he wanted to make a batch.

Charlie was gloating. “I knew you liked him! I totally ship you two! Look, I made fan art!” she confessed, turning her laptop so Dean could see a rather well-rendered representation of himself and Castiel doing something on his marble countertops that was should pull in at least an NC-17 rating. 

“I don't want fan art!” Dean stormed, slamming the laptop shut, slipping off his 800 thread count sheets and grabbing his monogrammed bathrobe. “I want to know what the hell is up.” He tore open his bedroom door and stomped into his living room to find that it took exactly two spirits of various Christmas timeframes to screw in a light bulb.

“What's going on out here?” Dean demanded.

Garth, who was standing at the base of a somewhat rickety-looking ladder, shrugged. “You were complainin' about us bustin' your fancy lighting?” he ventured.

Dean drew near to the ladder and planted his hands on his hips. “I was complaining about that guy busting my fancy lights.” He looked up, his stare accusing. “Cas: what the hell?”

Up atop the ladder, Cas paused, heaved a sigh and, after securing a LED light bulb with one last twist, descended the ladder.

“Hey! Garth! Cas! You guys wanna head to Christmas future with us?” Charlie urged. “2525, it’s totally bitchin’!”

“We're not goin' anywhere until I get some answers,” Dean told her. “Look, it's not like I'm unappreciative. I like the car.” Garth grinned and puffed up his thin chest. “And I'm even getting to like the tree. But I've got to know what's going on with Sam? Did somebody mess with my mind? I think you tried to show me something, Cas, but I don't understand.”

Castiel, Garth and Charlie exchanged a few terribly guilty looks. “We- We're not supposed to talk about it, Dean,” Cas finally confessed.

“Hey, but maybe we can sing about it!” Garth ventured, and suddenly he was holding his ukulele again. “Let me tell you a little story 'bout a man named Dean-” But as he struck a chord, the ukulele noisily broke a string with a great, off-key twannnnng. “Oops!”

Castiel furrowed his brow and then he disappeared.

Dean gestured. “Oh, don't do that! Dammit! He always does that!”

But then Castiel reappeared, together with a mildly startled Sam Wesson, who was dressed in plaid pajama pants and a Stanford T-shirt. “Oh, uh, hey Dean,” he said, pushing his hair out of his face. “Hey, great party. Uh.” He glanced around with bleary eyes. “Can someone explain to me how I got here?”

 

Castiel made the coffee. He brewed it strong.

Sam drizzled more cream into his mug and nodded in thanks to Cas. “So after my adoptive parents died,” he continued, speaking to the motley crew now gathered around Dean's reclaimed butcher block kitchen island, “I decided I wanted to go look up my biological parents. Jess encouraged me – she’s big on families. It turns out, John and Mary Winchester had passed away too, but I started to find some records that indicated that I had a brother. But the funny thing was, I didn't remember any of that, even though I should have been old enough when the Wessons adopted me.”

“Winchester,” said Dean, who suddenly had a thought break through. “Hey, that's what Jingle the Elf called me!”

Sam nodded. “I finally tracked you down, and found out you were right here in town, working at Scrooge & Shurley. I needed the money, so I decided to take a job there, thinking maybe I could get to know you. Jess thought I should just tell you, but I wasn't sure.”

Dean thought about the spreadsheet he had been working on. The rightsizing project. And Sam’s name, on thei list. “I guess maybe I’ve been kind of a douche?” 

Sam grinned.

“But, what happened to us? Why don't we remember this?” Dean looked around. The various spirits were all looking sketchy again. 

Dean shifted irritably on his wingback barstool. “Cas, dammit, you showed me Sonny's place. And Zach was there. And- and these guys in suits. And they did something to me. I don't know what. I think they did it to you too, Sam.”

“Is- Is that why we don't remember?” asked Sam.

The spirits exchanged several wordless glances. Finally, Cas spoke. “We are Christmas spirits. We are in the employ of Jingle the Elf. This year, Jingle received an assignment to imbue Zachariah Scrooge with the Christmas spirits.”

“But come to find out, the dude isn't lacking Christmas spirit - he's just a dick,” said Charlie.

“So Jingle suggested we work with you all instead,” Garth told Dean.

“Did Jingle talk to Chuck?” Dean asked.

Cas, Charlie and Garth stared. “Who is Chuck?” asked Cas. “I don't understand that reference.”

“Chuck Shurley!” said Dean. “You know, Zach's ex-partner. Toilet paper fan?”

“I'm sorry,” said Castiel.

“He passed away, around last Christmastime.”

“Oh,” said Castiel. “Yes, that would make him a ghost. I'm sorry, but that's a separate union. We are in Local 1138, holiday spirits and sprites. If you would like to speak to a departed soul, you need to call Ectoplasmic Local 666, and ask for Mr. Crowley.”

“Oh hey, I got something!” said Charlie, who had been mucking around with her laptop. “You say you guys were originally named Winchester, right?”

“That's what I think yeah,” Sam told her.

Charlie spun her laptop around. 

Dean covered his eyes. “It's not gonna be more fan art, is it?”

Charlie tapped the screen. “Here's the document of incorporation for the company. Check out the name!”

Sam peered at the screen. “Winchester, Scrooge & Shurley?”

Dean grabbed the laptop and spun it around. “You mean … our dad was an original partner?” 

“Or your mom – don't be sexist,” Charlie scolded.

“Why would Zach wanna give us amnesia?” Dean asked. “And why? And … how the hell did he do it? What the fuck is up with the guys in the suits?” He gazed at Cas, partly looking for an answer, and partly because, hell, the guy was pretty nice to gaze at. 

“They were not men, but spirits,” said Cas, who locked eyes with Dean (and might have made Dean’s heart flutter, just a little bit).

Dean tried to push away thoughts of hunky spirits to put it all together in his mind. He wished there was a FitBuddy for this supernatural shit! “So, they’re like you guys?” he asked.

“Ewww, not like us!” said Charlie.

“No, not anything like us!” said Garth.

“Well, they are like to us,” Cas allowed.

“I guess they're like us,” said Garth.

“No they're not!” Charlie told Garth.

“Or … not?” asked Garth, now looking back and forth and back and forth between his spirit companions.

“They have come under Zachariah’s control, though,” said Cas. 

“Did he rub a magic lamp or something?” asked Dean.

To Dean's surprise, Castiel nodded. “Yes, it is possible that Zachariah has access to their power through the use of some magical object.”

“What is his deal? Was he trying to cut us out of the company?” Sam wondered

Dean felt a pang. “Yeah, maybe. Your name is on the list to be rightsized.”

Sam looked as if someone had struck him, and Dean immediately regretted saying anything. “Shit! Well, um, I guess I could get another job.”

“It was supposed to be for the good of the company,” said Dean. “But it didn't make any sense. We were supposed to be cutting the fat, but you’re an excellent employee, Sam. Well, your hair could stand a cut.” Sam self-consciously put a hand through his hair and glowered. “But you always get excellent reviews, so I wasn’t sure why Zach put you on the list.” 

“He was trying to get rid of me? But you’re his favorite employee?”

“Dean was perfectly under his control,” Castiel explained. 

Sadly, Dean realized it had been true. “Well, I’m not any more.”

“Yay!” said Charlie. “Let’s go get the sucker!”

“We’re not allowed to assist Dean in this,” said Cas.

“Didn’t Charlie already help by lookin’ up the company?” asked Garth.

“Not technically,” said Charlie.

“Seems like it was,” said Garth.

“Was not!” said Charlie.

“Was too!” said Garth.

“OK OK OK!” said Dean. “Simmer down, spirits, we gotta get a plan of action. Charlie, maybe you could hack the internet or something to see what Zach’s plans are?”

“That’s not how hacking works!” Charlie told him with a roll of her eyes.

Sam set his coffee mug down with a determined air. “Look, if the spirit guys can’t help you, I can. And Jess too! She likes this kind of stuff. I think we need to get over to Scrooge & Shurley and look in their files. It’s Christmas, so it should be pretty deserted. Uhhhh. Only, maybe I should go home and put on pants first?”

“And get a haircut?” asked Dean.

“What? No!”

Dean shrugged. “Hey, I just found my little brother, tryin’ to make up for lost time.” And Sam and Dean grinned goofy grins at one another. 

Castiel had gone quiet. “Charlie,” he asked. “Did you take Dean on his journey to a future Christmas?”

“No, he wanted to come out and yell at you guys for busting his lights. And being too hot.”

“So,” said Cas, stirring his coffee, “if we escorted Dean over to the offices of Scrooge &Shurley, we would get there on Christmas, in the near future?”

Charlie broke out into a grin. “Yeah! I mean, it wouldn’t be as cool as Christmas 2525, which is totally bitchin’ but it would be _fairly_ bitchin’!” 

Everyone stood up except Castiel. As if on cue, Dean's cell phone began to ring. “What about your attendance at your fiancee’s party, Dean?” Cas asked pointedly.

Dean glared at his phone, but answered anyway. “Amara?”

_“Dean, where are you? Everyone is asking.”_

“Um, a got a couple … errands to run?”

_“Dean, join me, and together, we can rule Scrooge & Shurley as husband and wife!”_

“That's nice, dear,” said Dean. And then he hung up on her.

 

Jess was bidding the last stragglers from her holiday party goodbye, but she aimed a keen eye at the small group who had just quite literally appeared in her tiny living room. “So, you’re my long lost almost brother-in-law?” she asked Dean after they had mostly caught her up to speed while Sam went to put on some pants.

“That’s pretty much it,” said Dean.

“And you guys are spirits?” she asked Garth and Charlie. 

“Christmas spirits!” piped up Garth, who doffed his cap. 

“I also have an Etsy shop,” Charlie added. Garth shot her a glance. “Hey, I need the income.”

“Cool,” said Jess. She turned her gaze to Castiel. “And you’re the hot guy my almost brother-in-law was dancing with.”

“Ummm.” Cas turned red pretty much from the top of his hairline probably down to his toes. 

“And we’re all gonna break into your company and hack into their proprietary files?” she asked Sam as he returned.

“Welll,” explained Sam, looking to Dean for guidance but receiving none.

“Cool. Gimme a minute,” said Jess, who left the room.

“Uh, she seems cool with it?” Dean told Sam.

“Jess is pretty awesome,” Sam allowed.

Jess returned to the living room wearing a dark hoodie and carrying a couple of sticks that looked like batons. “Uh, you’re gonna cheer us on?” Dean asked.

Jess smiled sweetly. Then she twirled the batons, and somehow, Dean ended up face down on floor, with Jess holding his arm pinned behind his back.

“Whoa!” said Dean. Sam gave him a hand up. “Dude, your girlfriend is awesome!”

Jess shrugged and winked at Dean. “I teach a little martial arts. On the side.”

They all piled into Dean’s new car, Sam and Jess in the front with Dean and the spirits all piled in back, with Charlie up on the hump clicking around on her laptop (god knows where she was finding wifi – maybe the spirits had a special connection?). Dean noticed as he pulled away from the curb that it seemed really natural to have Sam over in the passenger seat, riding behind him. He also noticed, with a pang of regret, that Chuck didn’t make an appearance in the rear view mirror, though he could see Garth strumming his ukulele (which he had insisted on bringing along).

“So, what's the plan?” Sam asked as they pulled up in front of Scrooge & Shurley.

Dean stumbled. Had he been supposed to come up with a plan? Damn! “Uh. Take the car, go to mom's, kill Phil, grab Liz, and go to the Winchester for a pint until this all blows over.”

There was a pause.

“Awesome!” said Charlie. “That's a perfect plan!”

“What?” said Castiel. “I don't understand that reference.”

“ _Maybe_ what we could do,” Jess suggested, “since you think this Zach guy has control of some kind of magical object, is to look for the object....”

“Maybe in his office?” posited Dean.

“...And since you think he cheated you guys out of your father's – or mother's – company, we could look in the company records.”

“I know the place where we keep the pre-electronic files,” said Sam.

“Two teams then?” asked Jess.

“Sounds good!” said Dean, who really didn't have any better ideas. 

“OK,” said Sam. “Charlie can come with me and Jess and 'hack the internet,' for those files,” (Dean squirmed a little), “and the rest of you guys go turn over Scrooge's office.”

“Sounds good, big guy,” said Garth as they exited the car and entered the building on Dean's security card. Dean actually wasn't totally sure about having Garth assigned to his group, but maybe the spirit could help locating a magical object, as Dean really had no fucking clue what he might be looking for? On the other hand, he was going with Cas, who was looking pretty badass – in other words, hot as hell.

On the _other_ other hand, Garth was still hauling that stupid ukulele, which he clutched to himself as they all assembled in the grand glass elevator. Dean glanced around towards the mirror in the back, hoping to catch a glimpse of someone looking back at him, but once again was disappointed. 

Sam followed his brother's gaze. “Oh, shit!” he said. “Security cameras.”

“I'm disabling them,” said Charlie, who was holding the laptop in one arm and madly typing with the other. The elevator snapped open on a floor about halfway up. 

“This is us,” said Sam, leading Jess and Charlie out. “Hey, how do you get wifi everywhere?” he asked Charlie as they all started jogging down the hall towards the file room.

“Well, that's an interesting topic-” she began, but whatever else she said was lost as the doors closed once again.

“We're going up to the top,” Dean explained to Cas, who didn't respond, which was really typical. 

_“Jingle bells, Batman smells, Robin laid an egg!”_ sang Garth, strumming his ukulele. Dean cringed and fled the elevator as soon as the door opened on the top floor. Even though there was nobody else in the building and the security cams were off, he still hoped that no one thought he knew Garth.

They arrived at the door to Zach's office which, of course, was locked. Looking up and down the hallway, Dean brought out a couple of thin wires and, as the spirits looked on, picked the lock.

“Whoa! Where did you learn that?” asked Garth.

_“Mythbusters.”_

“Love that show,” said Garth, strumming his ukulele in the theme. “Did you see the one where the stuff blew up?”

“You,” Dean told Garth, “guard the door.”

“Gotcha, chief!” said Garth, giving a salute. 

“Come on,” Dean told Cas. He ventured into the room and began to scan around, though, frankly, it looked pretty boring in here. “Magical object, magical object,” he repeated to himself. “What does a magical object look like?” he asked Cas, who remained frustratingly impassive. “Hey, a little help here?”

Cas frowned. “Technically, I am not allowed to assist you.”

“Got news for you, spirit dude: you came in here with me, Cas! You're already in on it!”

Cas glowered, but began half-heartedly poking around the office. He got to a file cabinet, tugged at it, and then turned his ire towards the inanimate object. “This cabinet will not open! Perhaps it is being held closed by some kind of spell!”

Dean grinned, pushed Cas back, and whacked the top with his fist, causing the top drawer to spring open. “Stuck,” he said.

Cas peered at the files now arrayed before them in the drawer. “Why is there a file in here with your name on it?” he asked Dean.

Dean prowled through the drawer. “Dean Winchester,” he said, picking up a file. “Sam Winchester. What the hell?” He set the files on Zach's desk and opened them. “Holy shit, he's even got my good citizen certificates from Sonny's place! How the hell did he even get these?”

“Hey, we got company!” called Garth. From outside, he heard a twang and then a serious off note.

Castiel was already rushing out, and Dean noticed something shiny flicker into his hand. Dean scooped up the files, and followed him into the hallway, only to find Cas was blocking him with an arm.

“Dean, stay back!” Cas ordered as Garth smashed a man in a black suit over the head with his ukulele. 

There were about half a dozen of these men in the hallway, all rushing towards them. They looked just like the men Dean had seen hanging around Sonny's place, only now they were all holding wicked-looking long knives. Castiel stepped up to meet one of them with his own short sword while Garth bashed another with his ukulele. 

Another suited man leaped out and slashed at Dean, who stupidly held up the files to shield himself. “Stay away from Dean!” Cas growled, and he literally picked up the man and threw him down the hall at two of the other man.

“I'll hold 'em off!” Garth yelled. “Get Dean outta here!” Cas grabbed Dean's arm and dragged him down the corridor towards the elevator. 

“We'll get you to safety, Dean.”

“What about Sam and the others?” Dean asked as Cas repeatedly punched the elevator button.

“First we'll get you out.”

“But I can fight!”

The great glass elevator opened and Castiel pushed Dean inside. Cas leapt in after him, but one of the suited men also squeezed in just before the elevator door closed. As the elevator began to travel downwards, Cas wrestled with the man, grunting and bashing the interior of the elevator. Cas caught the man's hand and stabbed his knife into the elevator button panel. Sparks showered, and the elevator suddenly lurched to a halt. 

Dean kicked the man's knee from behind, and Cas knocked him out with the hilt of his own knife. The elevator swayed. Brushing sweat off his forehead, Dean looked down, and then gazed sadly at the burnt out elevator panel. “Any idea how to hot-wire an elevator?” he asked.

Something pounded on the roof and the elevator jerked. Dean felt his salad coming back up the wrong way. “They're coming in through the top,” said Cas. “Stay back.”

Dean grabbed the knife out of the suited man's hand. “I keep telling you, I can fight!”

“Stay back!” ordered Cas, giving Dean another shove. Dean gripped Cas's arm, and the two glowered at one another for a moment. 

“Cas.” Dean's eyes fluttered closed. 

Cas leaned forward and, grabbing Dean by the back of the neck, kissed him hard.

And then he gave him a shove. “And I said, stay back!” 

The trap door in the elevator's ceiling clanged open and a suited man dropped down. Cas immediately began to wrestle with him, and the elevator swayed back and forth as they fought. Then another man dropped down and Dean, mostly to prevent himself from looking down, grabbed him. The dude was incredibly strong, and soon had Dean on the floor. “Dammit, Dean!” yelled Cas.

Dean tried every dirty fighting trick he knew – and he knew rather a lot. He'd made the wrestling team when he'd lived at Sonny's. He managed to get on top of the suited guy and stab him with his own weird knife, which, to Dean's shock, made the dude fizzle and turn to powder. “Whoa,” said Dean, still standing there, holding the knife. Unfortunately, he didn't see yet another suited man dropping down through the trap door. The man landed on top of Dean, and the both of them crashed through the glass wall of the elevator.

“Dean!” screamed Cas.

Time seemed to stand still as Dean fell. He looked desperately around and, to his surprise, saw what he would swear was a brief glimpse of Chuck, staring back at him from the back of the elevator's mirrored panel. Chuck's lips mouthed something – it looked like, “toilet paper.”

Ah, fuck.

And then Dean fell, down and down and down and down....

He finally hit the floor with a soft, cushy _wuff._

He sprang up immediately and looked around, realizing he'd fallen onto a huge pile of toilet paper someone had stacked up in the building lobby.

“The hell?”

He heard a soft tinkle of glass and looked around. A guy in a suit – Dean thought it was the one he had been fighting with when he fell – was there, with a broom and dustpan, sweeping up the broken glass from the elevator.

“What the hell. Hey, asshole!” Dean yelled. He couldn't find the knife he'd been using, so he lobbed a roll of toilet paper at the guy's head.

To Dean's astonishment, the guy squealed, ran after the toilet paper roll, and began trying to roll it back up. Which was, of course, a fool's errand, as you can never roll toilet paper back the way it came.

Dean stood there, awfully confused and disoriented, for a time. There was a yell, and two more figures came crashing down – it was Cas and another guy in a suit, still wrestling as they fell. They landed the pile of toilet paper, still grappling for the knife. The guy got the drop on Cas, and was raising his knife for the killing blow when Dean lobbed a roll of toilet paper at him.

Instantly, the guy dropped the knife and, like the other one, scrambled over to wrap the toilet paper back up. 

Cas sat up, dazed, and looked in wonder, just as Dean had. Dean offered him a hand up, and, grabbing the fallen knife, Cas went over to crouch down beside the guy in the suit as he whimpered at the hopelessly unraveled roll of T.P.

“They're like, obsessive compulsive or something,” said Dean.

“They are probably some kind of fairy,” said Cas. “Fairies are always a little twitchy.” He raised up the knife and stabbed the guy, who froze, and then dissolved into a powder.

“Cas do you have to-” Dean started as Cas stabbed the other one. 

“If they are fairies, then it is merciful, Dean. They are trapped here, and I am sending them back to Avalon.” He tilted his head. “Also, they're not in my union.”

“Let's go up after Garth,” said Dean. He looked up at the glass elevator, still hanging there, broken.

“Are there stairs?” offered Cas.

“Freight elevator,” said Dean. He liked that one better anyway – no windows. So, pausing to stuff their jackets with rolls of anti-fairy toilet paper, they sprinted off towards the service elevator in back of the building, and rode up to the top floor. Oddly, even though this elevator was usually just used for hauling boxes up and down, it was playing Muzak – a string rendition of the old Righteous Brothers hit, “Unchained Melody.” Nervous, Dean began to sing along, “Oh, my love, my darling, I've hungered for your touch....”

And then he glanced over at Cas, who was staring at him, and Dean remembered the very distracting kiss, and became terribly uncomfortable. “Uh, you suppose Garth is OK?” he asked Cas.

“Garth is always OK,” Cas told him. “And then again, he's never OK.”

“Yeah, I got that.” 

Thankfully, the doors finally opened, and they found Garth standing in the hallway, watching with some amusement as a small coterie of fairies in suits tried to put his badly smashed ukulele back together.

“Was just about to come after you two,” Garth told them. “I smushed my uke but good on that guy's head, and this is what happened.”

“Same with us,” said Dean.

“Think these guys maybe ain't the sharpest peeler in the drawer,” Garth told Dean and Cas.

“From the Fairy's union,” snorted Cas, who, as Dean cringed, stabbed each one.

“Ah, Loyal Brotherhood of Avalon. Yeah, they've always been a bit twitchy. You shoulda paid your union dues!” Garth hollered at the fairy who was frantically pasting together his uke before Cas stabbed him and, evidently, sent him back to Fairyland.

“We gotta go check on Sammy!” said Dean. Garth grabbed the remains of his ukulele and, with a zap of magic, it put it self back together. Dean sighed as Garth immediately began singing horrible Christmas carols again.

“What's all the T.P. for, brother?” Garth asked Castiel as they made for the stairs.

“You'll see,” said Dean. He put a finger to his lips, and all of them tried to slip quietly as possible downstairs. They stopped about halfway down, and Dean slowly opened the door. He nodded to Cas, and the two of them crept down the hallway to where a half dozen of the fairies were banging on the door of the file room. Evidently, Sam and Jess and Charlie had barricaded themselves.

“Hey, over here!” Dean yelled. As soon as the fairies were looking in their direction, Dean and Cas lobbed toilet paper rolls their way, and then the fairies all broke off their seige to run after it. Cas then made a round with the knife to finish them off.

“I'll be danged,” said Garth.

After it had been cleared out, Dean knocked on the door. “Hey, it's Dean! It's OK, we took care of 'em.” He heard the sound of something heavy being moved on the other side of the door, and then it cracked open, and Sam peered out. He grinned at Dean and opened up the door.

“Oh, cool. How did you deal with them?”

“We threw toilet paper at them.”

“What?”

“Explain later,” said Dean impatiently, barging into the room. 

“You find the magical whatcha-jiggy?” Sam asked.

“No,” said Dean. He grabbed the files on himself and his brother out of his waistband. “But look what I found in Zach's office.”

Sam rifled through the files, staring at Dean's certificates. “He's been following us since Sonny's?”

“Yeah.”

“Weirdo!”

“If found some patent applications,” said Jess, spreading some papers out on the table beside Sam and Dean's files. “Looks like your father had filed several patents to design a better widget.”

“Wait! A widget?” called Charlie, who was sitting up on top of a bookshelf in the center of the room.

“Yeah,” said Dean. “Scrooge & Shurley, LLC makes widgets.”

“What? Seriously? I mean, that's even a thing?”

“Mr. Scrooge is the famous inventor of the Scroogit Widget!”

“What?” asked Jess as Sam snickered and Charlie giggled. When Dean scowled, Jess backtracked a bit. “I mean, no offense, but that's a terrible name.”

“Anyway, what if he's not the inventor at all?” Sam asked. “I don't have a lot of domain knowledge regarding, er, widgets, but these patent applications seem to indicate your dad invented the Winchester Widget.”

“Winchester Widget? That's a better name,” Charlie called down. “Though it's still a widget.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “And what have you discovered so far, Miss Know-It-All?”

“Well, nothing, but I'm getting four bars up here! Hey, anybody interested in a download of Ex Machina? Oscar Isaac is such a babe!”

“He's babe-licious!” answered Jess, to funny looks from all of the guys. “Uh, anyway. I also found what looks like John Winchesters – your father's – will,” she told them, a she was obviously more on the ball than certain other people in the party. She spread out the document beside the others.

“This looks valid to me,” said Sam. “See, it's got the witness signatures.”

“Chuck Shurley was a witness?” said Dean. “I wonder why he never said anything?”

“Maybe Zach had him under some kind of spell too? Like he did with us.”

“But why would he send us away, and then bring me back?” asked Dean. “He personally recruited me right out of MIT.”

“Because, you dingalings,” snapped Zach, who was now standing in the doorway, “you're the only one who understands the fucking widgets!”

“Chiggers!” shouted Charlie, unfortunately too late to do any good.

“What the fuck, Zach?” asked Dean.

“Oh, yeah, why don't we all stand here while I describe my evil plan?” Zach huffed. He turned around. “Get them! Get them all!” And suddenly a group of the suit-wearing fairies flooded the room. “Make them forget,” he added, nervously twisting his signet ring.

“It's his ring!” Dean hollered. “He's controlling them with his ring. Get it!”

There was a flurry of activity in the crowded file room, the fairies trying to tackle Dean's party of friends and family as several parties rushed towards Zach, trying to wrest his signet ring off his finger. Dean and Cas flung what was left of their toilet paper around to distract the fairies, but soon ran out. Garth swung wide with his ukulele, and took off screaming and chasing a couple of them down the hall. Jess used her batons to bash some heads, and Cas whipped out his anti-fairy knife. 

Sam climbed up on a bookshelf and leapt onto Zach's back. Dean managed to slug Zach right in the chin and grab his ring. He flung it to the ground and stomped on it.

The suited men continued to attack.

“It's not the signet ring! It's not the signet ring!” Dean shouted, as Cas knocked away a suited man who was about to do his forgetting whammy thing on Sam. “Everybody, fight the fairies! Fight those fairies!”

“How?” asked Jess.

“They're compulsive!” said Dean as a couple of the suited men tried to rewind the toilet paper. “Make a mess!”

“I'll just call more, you idiots!” sighed Zachariah, who was rolling his eyes.

Ignoring Zach, Jess nodded at Sam, and they positioned themselves on either side of one of the bookshelves in the center of the room. With a great heave from both of them, the shelf tilted over and crashed into the next shelf, scattering notebooks and files everywhere.

Several of the suit-wearing men shrieked, abandoning the fight to rush over and try to clean up the mess. But one of the fairies managed to press a hand to Sam's forehead. Sam yelped and fell to his knees.

“Sammy!” said Dean, rushing over to him. 

“What's happening?” asked Sam. “Where am I?” He blinked. “Who are you?”

“Sammy, no,” said Dean. 

There was a huge creak, as the next bookshelf now began to collapse. And then it fell into the next bookshelf, and the next, and they were falling over like dominos.

“Help me!” yelled Charlie, who was still sitting up atop one of bookshelves. vJess rushed over to help, and Charlie fell on top of her.

“Watch out Jess!” Dean shouted, but it was too late, as a man in a suit hovered over them and touched both of their foreheads.

The women got up, confused. “What are we doing here?” Jess asked.

“I dunno, but you're awfully cute!” giggled Charlie.

“Shit,” whispered Dean.

“Dean, out of here, now,” Cas ordered.

“But Sam! Jess!” As Dean snatched at the files on the table, Cas hustled Dean out of the file room.

They saw Garth sitting down, back against the wall, having a dazed conversation with his Mr. Fizzles sock puppet.

“They got Garth too!” said Dean.

“This way!” Cas pushing Dean down the other way.

“You'll never defeat me!” Zachariah yelled after them.

“My office,” Dean told Cas as they ran. 

“Dean, we have to find how he's controlling those-” But Cas was cut off as he was tackled by a couple of the men in suits. Dean turned to the bad art hanging on the walls and jiggled the frames so they hung off center. The fairies laid off Cas and went to straighten them.

“Come on!” said Dean, grabbing Cas from the floor and dragging him into his office.

Castiel looked around, disoriented. “Where am I? Is this Christmas?”

“Cas,” whispered Dean. Just then, a couple of those annoying fairies crashed into Dean's office.

“Get the fuck out of here!” Dean ordered. He had picked up one of his Employee of the Month awards, so he smashed it over the fairy's head.

The man fizzled out and vanished.

Dean looked at the remains of the award in his hand. He grabbed another and flung it at another fairy. The man ducked, but when the framed award smashed against the wall, he also fizzled out. “I got it, Cas!” said Dean. “I figured it out.” He grabbed the rest of his framed certificates and smashed them over his knee. “I figured it out.”

Just then, Zachariah appeared at his office door, flanked by two of the fairies. Dean smashed the last certificate, and one of the men vanished. 

“Quit wasting my time,” said Zachariah, who waved on the one remaining man in a suit.

“No no no!” Dean told him. “I don't know what you're doing, but I'm gonna fuck up your magic shit! Cas, help me.”

Castiel still looked confused.

“Cas!”

Cas stood and grabbed the man in the suit and began to grapple with him.

“Can't get decent help these days,” sighed Zach, who raised his own hand and advanced on Dean. Dean fell backwards, and the files he had been holding in his jacket spilled all over the floor.

Zach loomed over him, but Dean spotted the old achievement awards from Sonny's place, and grabbed them. “Fuck you!” he cried, tearing them to pieces. Zach leaned forward and put his hand on Dean's forehead. 

“Get off!” Dean yelled at him, pushing him away. He stood up. “It didn't work! It didn't work!”

Zach stepped back and opened his mouth to say something. Suddenly, a silvery light poured out of his mouth, and filled his eyes. Zach gasped, and turned shimmery, like a bad special effect on a TV show. And then he blinked out.

Cas, who was standing behind him, stepped back, holding the knife.

“Cas, we did it!” said Dean, rushing to embrace Castiel. “We broke the curse!” Dean ran out into the hallway, but no one was there – no men in suits, but also no Garth, no Sam, no Jess, no Charlie. 

“Hey, Sammy!” Dean yelled, running down to the file room, his voice now taking on a chilling echo. 

But no one called back. 

No one was there.

“Cas, what the hell is going on?” he asked as the spirit of Christmas past drew near. “Where is everybody? Where did they go?”

Castiel grabbed Dean, and yanked something off his belt. Dean stared: Cas was holding his FitBuddy.

“Dean, this is it. This is the cursed object.”

“What? No, that's my FitBuddy.”

“Dean,” said Cas, handing it over, wrapping Dean's hand carefully around it, “you must destroy it.”

“But it's got all my carb intake! And my cardio. Dammit, Cas.”

Castiel smiled a thin smile. “As a wise man once said, it's what's in here.” He placed a hand in the center of Dean's chest.

“OK, OK, but if I smash it, what will happen?”

Cas shook his head. “I- I don't know.”

Dean frowned. He looked at Cas, and then back at his FitBuddy.

He looked at Cas.

He dropped the FitBuddy to the ground, and smashed it with his boot heel.

Something shrieked.

 

Dean rolled over on his leather couch and grabbed his iPhone. 

_“Dean, where are you?”_ came Amara's voice.

Dean twisted out of the afghan that was covering him and stared around the room.

_“Dean?”_

Dean walked around his apartment, from the kitchen to the bathroom to the bedroom.

Absolutely nothing was amiss.

_“Dean: you must join me. For dinner.”_

“I'll- I'll be right there, Amara.”

Dean pocketed his phone, grabbed his jacket, and made his way out the door to the parking garage, where his Prius was parked, as usual. He fired it up, and drove out to the Scrooges’s house in an energy efficient manner. 

She met him at the door with a kiss. She was wearing that black dress: the one cut up to here and down to there. She was a knockout. “We've been waiting for you, Dean Smith,” she purred. 

Taking his hand in her smaller one, she led him to the dining room table, where Zachariah Scrooge, her father, was sitting at the head of the table, holding forth. “Well, well, here's my soon to be son-in-law,” Zach said, saluting Dean with a glass of red wine. 

The men seated around the table all chuckled on cue.

Dean chuckled. His wine glass was filled, and a silent waiter passed down a plate of delicious steak and potatoes.

“Nothing too good for Dean Smith!” Zach told everybody.

Amara slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow, and the discussion went to the future of the company. It was heady stuff, for a kid who was raised an orphan.

Dean looked at his mashed potatoes.

He really needed to enter his carb count on his FitBuddy. 

“What's the matter, Dean?” whispered Amara.

Dean searched his pockets. It wasn't in his jacket pockets, or in the inside jacket pockets.

“Dean.”

Dean felt his pants pockets. 

“Dean.”

He brought out a small item. But it was not a FitBuddy at all. 

“Dean.”

It was a set of old-fashioned car keys.

“Dean!”

Dean looked around. 

“The name’s Winchester,” he said.

And he was up, running, rushing out of the dining room, out of the house, into the front yard.

There was a sleek black car waiting there.

And a familiar figure, wearing a very rumpled coat, leaning against it.

Dean rushed to Castiel, nearly tackling him, kissing him hard, pressing his lips to him. Cas grabbed him, twining fingers in his hair, Dean gripping Cas's belt loops, pulling him close. Cas wrestled Dean around, pinning him against the car, pressing their bodies together, lined up hips to hips.

At last, they broke apart, keeping close.

“Hello, Dean,” whispered Cas.

Dean broke into a grin. He dug into his jacket, and pulled out a wrinkled envelope with a gingerbread man sticker on it. “Cas, there's a party I gotta get to. Wanna come with?”

Cas smiled so hard his eyes wrinkled up, and it was adorable. They got into the car, and as Dean was taking off, he saw a familiar bearded face in the rear view mirror, winking at him.

Dean winked back, and drove on.

 

~~~~~

_And so that Christmas became the first of a long tradition. Dean Winchester (for that was his true name) visited his brother's house, as he would every Christmas from then on, and he was to become the best brother, the best brother-in-law, and, in time, the best uncle that anyone could ever wish for._

_And while he was there he got quite wasted on rum punch, and ended up on the ratty couch, making out with Castiel, and ex-Christmas spirit, who had decided on a career change. Sam graduated law school, and, after leading a multi-million dollar (and ultimately successful) lawsuit on behalf of his brother against Zachariah Scrooge for patent infringement, became counsel for Winchester & Winchester Widgets._

_Garth appeared on the Grand Old Opry singing a ukulele version of Grandmother Got Run Over by a Reindeer, and Charlie hosted her own space podcast in the year 2525._

_Chuck got an afterlifetime's supply of T.P. Zach and Amara started their own new age religion, and were last heard of leading their flock into the Amazon rainforest._

_Jingle the Elf got time-and-a-half for overtime._

_Dean often thought about leaving his luxury condo, but found that hot, dirty sex on the marble countertops was indeed everything it was cracked up to be. And more. “Do you ever think about getting a house?” he asked one day, splayed out there wearing only one sock, his ankles up over Cas's shoulders, as Cas (who was for some reason completely naked but for a blue tie) drove deep, deep into him._

_“I think about your ass,” Cas growled._

_Dean smiled and let himself drop back, his head hanging down off the counter, happy and giddy and turned on and well filled with the Christmas Spirit._


End file.
